


All Of Your Love Is Sunlight

by This_is_your_Heichou_speaking



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A lot of sun, Cunnilingus, F/F, Female Harry Potter, Female Sirius Black, Fluff, Just a bunch of soft ladies tbh, Just mentioned constantly, Outdoor Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-19 04:20:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19967941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/This_is_your_Heichou_speaking/pseuds/This_is_your_Heichou_speaking
Summary: The heat made Sirius strip layers off of herself, both literally and figuratively. She smiled more, and it made Harry's heart lighten to see the soft way her eyes crinkled around the corners. To see the way her lips stretched and her teeth gleamed. To watch her eyes shine, bright and happy when she looked at Harry. She looked at the way Sirius smiled so easily now, and it gladdened her.





	All Of Your Love Is Sunlight

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [wynnebat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat) in the [SirryFest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SirryFest) collection. 



> This is written for a prompt by wynnebat for the Sirry ficfest. The prompt was to write some form of genderbend sirry, so I decided to genderbend them both ;)
> 
> Thanks so much to the amazing [Exarite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exarite) for betaing ❤️❤️❤️

The summer Harry turned seventeen, something between Sirius and her _shifted_. At first, she wasn't sure what, and thinking back, it took her much too long to realise what the warmth in her stomach meant. She attributed the sweaty palms to summer's heat, her racing heart to the Snitch she'd just caught, the butterflies in her belly to the anxiousness of sneaking out.

Sirius was beautiful, sure, but nobody had explained to Harry exactly _how_ Sirius was beautiful. She felt like she'd missed an entire layer of what made her godmother so good-looking; like a veil had been removed over her eyes. She had appreciated Sirius' long legs and smooth skin and dark hair before, but she'd never before wanted so badly to be near her, to breathe in her presence, to _touch—_

Harry had known what attractive looked like, she'd just never felt the attraction to go with it.

* * *

That summer was a hot one, the sun yellow-white in a sky so blue it hurt to look at, the heat enough to make her shirt cling to her like a second skin. The heat felt both terrible and wonderful, in the way that it looked so inviting but felt unfriendly while they were stuck indoors. Harry felt like the days were slowly slipping away from her in brief mornings, long days spent on the couch and cool evenings trying not to watch as Sirius sauntered around half-dressed.

Perhaps that was the hardest part. The heat made Sirius strip layers off of herself, both literally and figuratively. She smiled more, and it made Harry's heart lighten to see the soft way her eyes crinkled around the corners. To see the way her lips stretched and her teeth gleamed. To watch her eyes shine, bright and happy when she looked at Harry. She looked at the way Sirius smiled so easily now, when before she'd only ever seemed haunted and cold—like the chill of Azkaban would never quite leave her bones, and it gladdened her.

The sun seemed to chase away the shadows, and Harry wanted nothing more than to be the cause of fine laughter lines along Sirius' eyes, years from now.

Then there was the way her mouth went dry at the sight of Sirius' pale skin, her long fingers, her strong, muscled arms and bare shoulders. She found herself on more than one occasion watching the way Sirius' wrist flexed as she wrote; her prominent clavicle when she leaned her head against the back of the couch; her chest round and soft compared to the muscles in her back.

And she wanted to tell herself ' _no, stop, you're not_ supposed _to!_ ' Sirius was her _godmother_ , was supposed to be like a _parent_ to Harry, but Harry didn't feel like that at all. When they'd met, Sirius had felt like an older, much cooler friend—like Bill or Charlie. Harry had looked at Sirius in the moonlight, promising Harry a place and a home with her, and immediately fell in love with the idea of what life with Sirius would be like.

But it hadn’t lasted long. Sirius was so _impressive_ , so beautiful and strong and brave. She was so casually, completely and unapologetically herself that it made Harry feel like a shade looking up at the real thing, or herself at eleven looking up at the roof of a castle and seeing the night sky.

She'd never before noticed the flex of Sirius' muscles under her skin like this before, had never noticed the sharpness of her black tattoos against her skin.. She had never before looked at Sirius tying her hair up into a ponytail, and found herself wanting to kiss the place where her nape moved into shaved skin at the back of her scalp. She wasn't supposed to feel like this, but Harry couldn't lie to herself.

She couldn't stop wanting Sirius. Not when Sirius' presence felt like sunlight after a year of winter.

* * *

It was still morning when Sirius approached her—the sort of time when it felt like noon but wasn't technically. She was wearing her leather jacket, hair tied up in a bun to reveal her undercut, and keys jingling loudly in her hands as she twirled them around her index finger.

"Come on, sweetheart," she said. "We're going out."

For a second, Harry remained where she lay spread-eagle on the floor. Then she sat up and squinted suspiciously at Sirius. "We're not supposed to leave," she replied, but she knew Sirius.

"So?" True to character, Sirius shrugged nonchalantly and offered Harry a hand up. She grabbed onto it, trying valiantly not to think about the feeling of Sirius' fingers around her own.

When Harry didn't say anything, Sirius sighed fondly, in a way she didn't for anyone else. It made her feel unbearably warm, and she had to look away for fear her face might contort strangely.

"We've been stuck in this hellhole for far too long, Harry," she said. "It's your final summer before you've got any real responsibilities, and I'm not letting you waste it all on the living room floor."

She looked at Harry meaningfully, and Harry flushed. "I haven't been _that_ bad," she muttered, but it was useless.

Sirius smirked. "It's okay, love," she replied, patting Harry's hand consolingly. "I get it. If anyone gets it, it's me."

That said, she let go of Harry and sauntered out of the room, clearly expecting Harry to follow. Harry hesitated, weighing the pros and cons of dealing with the Order afterwards, but the promise of going somewhere, _anywhere_ that wasn't this house soon won out.

Outside, Sirius' black motorcycle gleamed in the sun. Her godmother was already straddling it, thighs strong and muscled against the metal. For a second, she was hit with the unbearable urge to bite the skin there, but she swallowed hard and willed herself not to react. Not now, not with Sirius looking at her so very expectantly. Instead, she let herself lean one hand on Sirius' shoulder, and climbed on behind her.

The metal and leather were hard and unyielding beneath her. It took her a minute of readjusting herself before she was finally comfortable enough to settle down. Sirius waited patiently until Harry sat still, her hands loose at Sirius' waist like she didn't quite dare to hold her.

Sirius turned her key, and when she kicked the bike into gear it thrummed under her like a beast awakening. Suddenly, the still metal was vibrating like it had come to life, and Harry felt almost dwarfed in the shadow of its powerful hum. Sirius laughed, loud and happy, as if she'd guessed what Harry was thinking, and reached down to lay one hand over Harry's.

"Hold on tight, darling," she said, and pulled Harry's arms to wrap around her waist until they were pressed together, Harry's chest to Sirius' back. Suddenly it was hard to breathe, hard to think about anything but the warmth of Sirius' body pressed against her. The bike sped up slowly, as if Sirius might be letting Harry get used to it, but just as Harry knew Sirius, Sirius knew her. They reached the end of the street, and Sirius had only to turn left before she was bending lower over the bike and speeding up, faster and faster until Harry could barely recognise the roads.

It was a hot day, hot enough that she could feel the burn of sunlight against her hair, but at this speed, she nearly felt cold. The world blurred into a smudged painting around her until it was just her and Sirius, untouchable and separate from the rest of the world. All she could think about was the loud vibrating of the motorcycle between her legs, Sirius in her arms, and the wind touching every part of her not covered by Sirius' body. Harry closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of Sirius' hair, and let herself tighten her grip and shuffle just a bit closer.

Just for now. Sirius wouldn't notice.

* * *

They arrived at the edge of a large field somewhere on the outskirts of London. Sirius halted the bike, and waited for Harry to get off before she followed. Harry stood by and watched as she swung her leg over it, moving with practiced ease as she pushed down the center stand and leaned the bike to one side.

Then she turned and grinned brightly at Harry. "I'd have loved to fly some with you," she lamented, "but Muggles live too close to here for it to be safe. So," she pulled something out of her pocket, tapping it once with her wand to return it to its original size.

"How about some football?"

Harry grinned at her, suddenly eager to run until her legs ached with the burn, and to sweat until she was soaked. Her muscles felt like they'd been in hibernation, unused for so long that they were eager to be exhausted. She nodded eagerly. "Won't be much of a game with only two players," she replied, already bouncing excitedly on her feet. "But I'll beat you either way."

Sirius tossed the ball to the ground, putting one foot over it, ready to kick. "Oh, you're on." And she kicked it away from her before Harry could reply.

It was several hours later that Sirius finally called for a stop, gasping and laughing and red-cheeked with joy. It was afternoon by then and Harry too felt the sharp stitch in her side from too much running after so many days spent doing nothing, and cheeks aching from smiling harder than she had in, well, _ever_.

"Already tired, you old lady?" she teased, despite the fact that she too was ready to drop. Sirius mock-growled at her, making an attempt to run at her but stopping midway to put her hands on her knees.

"I could still outrun you, you little brat!" she replied. Harry stumbled, chest aching, until she stood right next to Sirius, and plonked herself down in the long, green grass without a second thought. Sirius followed, sitting right next to her.

As one, they fell back into the long grass, colour high in their cheeks and chests heaving as they caught their breaths. For a second, Harry could barely hear past the thundering of her own blood in her veins, could see nothing but the dizzying light of the summer sun. When she let her eyes slip to the side, long stalks of bright green spanned the space between her and Sirius, and then Harry was looking back at the sky, chastened.

She was wet with sweat, her shirt sticking to her skin in a way that was nearly too uncomfortable to bear. She wanted to strip it off, uncaring and bold, and let Sirius see her warm skin—there wasn't anyone else around except them, after all. But despite the fire in her veins, despite the motion of getting up and stripping caught in her mind like a tape on repeat, her limbs felt too tired and heavy to move.

She calmed. The sun was bright enough that cooling down didn't feel like cooling down so much as warming up in a different way—from the outside in and not the inside out. She stared at blue, endless blue that felt like it stretched both incredibly wide and intensely deep, and felt hyper-aware of Sirius next to her.

She didn't dare look over again, wondering if Sirius was looking at _her_ and afraid her fascination and affection would show too nakedly on her face to hide once perceived. In lieu of the actual sight, she let herself imagine Sirius' profile, gleaming gold and yellow under the sun. She mapped in her mind her godmother's high cheekbones, her full lips and white teeth, stretched in an easy smile. She imagined her eyes, dark lashes and quicksilver eyes, laughter dancing in them like a firefly in the night. She thought about Sirius' damp skin and the flush that painted it pink, the sharp jut of her clavicle, her beautiful curls a gleaming halo around her face, and the want to reach over and touch felt like a bone-deep ache.

She wanted to be bold, as bold as Sirius. She wanted to let herself feel and hurt the way Sirius did, live without abandon the way Sirius did, and it was as if the impulse to lean over had already reached her limbs—she need only follow it. She need only _dare_.

When she finally let herself look, Sirius was looking back. Her eyes were softer than Harry had imagined, and the way she _looked_ at Harry–

"Sirius," she whispered. Her voice was lost in the wind, and the space between them seemed impossibly vast in that moment. She wanted so badly to reach out, wanted Sirius to reach out.

They stared at each other for what seemed like forever, a small eternity pushed into the minutes before the sun began to set. Harry would remember, later, the way the sunlight danced on Sirius' lashes, and wonder if she might have tasted like sunshine. For now, there was only this, silence so wide it felt like it should suffocate, and Sirius' mouth parting around her name, never heard.

* * *

They were waiting when Harry walked in, like a panel of judges ready to give their verdict. Mrs Weasley had bedecked the table with tea and biscuits by the time Sirius and Harry stumbled into the house, their smiles wide enough to hurt and colour high in their cheeks. Even Dumbledore was there—something unusual in that he often chose to make his appearances when everybody was already present, and leave before anybody could even leave their seats.

His presence had a visible effect on Sirius—her smile dropped like a stone and she became still, and didn't step forward into the room except that Harry grabbed her hand and pulled her further in. They stood there, waiting for their scolding like naughty children. Harry could feel the Sirius' mood souring with every silent second that passed, and her own mood soured in response. She gripped Sirius' hand tighter, dreading the anger that she could practically _see_ rising within her godmother, and looked to the headmaster, who looked far too preoccupied with choosing himself a biscuit for it to be natural.

Eventually, Sirius lost her patience. She stalked forward, dropping into a chair and pulling Harry to sit on her lap as if it was nothing. She grabbed an empty teacup, loud in the awkward silence and uncaring under various disapproving glances.

Harry remained where she was put, flushing so warm so suddenly that she was sure the game was up, that everyone _must_ know how she wanted Sirius now. She felt ever-aware of Sirius' firm thigh under her, her warm hand in Harry's waist steadying her, her warm breath against Harry's nape. For a long moment, she couldn't help but lose herself in imaginings of being able to turn to sit on Sirius' lap properly and kissing her like that. She imagined pushing her hands into Sirius' hair, fingers stroking up the back of her shaved head until they were entangled in black curls, of Sirius smiling with dark promise against her mouth right here, in the kitchen any ordinary summer morning.

But Sirius was upset, her fingers stiff against Harry's skin, putting her teacup down hard enough to rattle. It snapped Harry out of her thoughts and into the present like a slap, her mood thoroughly ruined.

Sirius' feelings towards Dumbledore had worsened with her house arrest during Harry's fourth and fifth years, but the real change in her opinion of Dumbledore had come from her finding out about the Dursleys. Suddenly, she began making angry, snide comments about how the headmaster was incapable of doing his job, began goading Snape on purpose even more viciously and refused to shut up when Dumbledore asked her to. Harry still remembered the loud, violent argument that had followed Sirius finding out about her cupboard, mostly because she had been so shocked. She had thought, rather foolishly in hindsight, that Sirius had already known.

And, more than anything, she'd never had anyone defend her that way.

So now, when Sirius refused to react under Dumbledore's and Mrs Weasley's and Snape's annoyed and disapproving gazes, she held Sirius' hand under the table, and looked back at them defiantly.

"Sir?" she prompted after a long while, as if she was completely clueless. Sirius dipped a digestive into her tea, and Dumbledore sighed as if greatly disappointed.

"Where were you?" Mrs Weasley said in his stead. She had been wiping at the counters somewhat aggressively, but stilled immediately at the sound of Harry's voice. "Do you have _any_ idea how worried we were?"

"We didn't go far," Harry protested, even though she knew it would be futile. "And we were safe, I swear, we just couldn't—"

"I'm not a rat in a cage," Sirius interrupted, still focused on her tea. "And neither is Harry, no matter what you seem to think." She was looking straight at Dumbledore rather pointedly. Harry bit her lip nervously.

Dumbledore's eyes went icy, but he didn't raise his voice. "I'd have expected _you_ to understand, Harriet," he said instead of addressing Sirius. "Even if Voldemort is now dead, his Death Eaters—"

"There'll _always_ be Death Eaters!" Sirius exclaimed, and Harry winced. She knew how much her godmother rankled at being ignored, and so did Dumbledore. Undoubtedly, he'd refused to reply to her for that very reason.

"We'll never be completely safe," she continued. "That doesn't mean I'm going to _let you_ —"

"Oh _do_ shut up, you stupid mutt," Snape interrupted from the corner, glowering unpleasantly. Sirius bristled, as if spoiling for a fistfight, but before she could open her mouth to snap back at him, there were twenty raised voices shouting all at once, so loud Harry could barely think, never mind actually hear anyone's words. She just wanted to disappear.

So she slipped away, unnoticed by anyone, out through the back door.

* * *

It was quieter, in the back garden. Harry could still hear the loud, angry shouting and raised tempers as she left the house, but the door closed behind her with a neat _snap_ and suddenly it was all so muffled she could barely tell the voices apart.

Her chest hurt. She was angry, and upset, but mostly she hated how an experience that had tasted so gently sweet had had to be tinged bitter at the end, through means out of her control. She'd wanted to go home, sit next to Sirius as they ate dinner and let their legs touch as if by accident. She wanted Sirius to smile and walk her to her bedroom and imagine, just for a second, that this was something real and not just all in her head.

And they'd ruined it.

She clenched her jaw and breathed in sharply, trying to calm down. Grimmauld Place had been cleaned up, the walls repainted and most of the furniture replaced so that it was nearly unrecognisable, but Harry's favourite change had been the garden. She'd helped Sirius herself, here, just the two of them. She'd helped Sirius mow the lawn and plant the flowers by hand and it had been nothing like back at Privet Drive.

She remembered Sirius' beautiful, wretched smirk and her warm hands against hers in the soil, watching attentively as Harry showed her how to plant tulips and hydrangeas and, one memorable afternoon, lilies. She thought about Sirius' bare arms and strong shoulders and wondered if that was when this all started, and why did Harry do this to herself? Why did she let herself dream about Sirius, think about touching her skin with her mouth and running fingers through Sirius' hair when she _knew_ it would never happen?

She clenched her hands, hitting them against the wall against which she leaned, and then jumped at the soft touch that ran over aching skin.

For once, Sirius didn't say a word, and Harry let the silence build like a swelling tide. She let Sirius run her thumb over her hand, even though Harry hadn't really hit the wall very hard at all, and wondered how she hadn't even noticed her come out behind her.

They stood like that for a long moment. Sirius kept rubbing her thumb over Harry's, slowly shifting her grip until she was holding Harry's hand like a noble greeting a lady. And still, she didn't say anything. Harry kept her gaze on their hands, her brown skin next to Sirius' paler fingers, and then wondered what was happening in a way that felt a little hysterical. Surely this wasn't normal? She wanted to read the affection and tenderness she saw in Sirius actions as something beyond just maternal care, but even so, her chest ached at the threat of being wrong.

She couldn't lose Sirius. Not by her own hand. And yet, Sirius still wouldn't let go, and Harry was loathe to interrupt the moment.

Eventually, she let herself tighten her grip on Sirius in turn. It felt like a monumental move, a loud declaration for all that it was barely noticeable. Sirius stilled suddenly.

"What am I doing," she whispered. Harry wasn't sure if she was meant to hear, but it might as well have been a confession for all that it made impulse rush through her. She pressed her fingers tighter into Sirius' skin, pulled her hand closer until she held it against her chest.

Sirius' eyes were liquid silver, both deep and so warm that it made her tremble. She clutched at her hand, edged the tiniest inch closer, and then Sirius was wrapping her other arm around Harry's waist like she couldn't stop herself. She pressed their foreheads together, so _tender_ , and was this even real? Sirius' breath smelled like earl grey and chocolate—she must have had one of the chocolate biscuits after Harry had left. Her mouth was pink and open, and Harry felt herself pressing ever closer. She felt desperately heated—Sirius' presence felt like sunlight and magic, heady, like it warmed her very bones until she forgot what it was like to be cold. She never wanted to leave the circle of Sirius’ arms, and wanted more than anything to taste her mouth.

So she did. And she felt so _brave_ , but where there was fear there was also trust. Sirius would never play with her like this, not if she didn't mean it. The promise that lay in Sirius' wordless gasp felt as true and real as the hold across her back, and under the cover of night, she could not bring herself to doubt.

And she felt like he was drowning—it was both terrifying and addictive, the way Sirius' mouth moved against hers, the press of her arm into Harry's back, her hands pulling Harry ever closer until it felt like they were molded together. It was different, _electrifying_ , and Harry never wanted to stop.

The night was hot, and Sirius was the brightest star—a sun in her own right, to one who came close enough.

"You taste like salt," Harry murmured when they came apart. Her hands were in Sirius' hair, pushing her face close, and she felt like she could run a mile on Sirius' energy.

Sirius smiled at Harry like they shared a secret, soft and tender and pretty. "Do I?" she replied, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Because you taste rather sweet to me."

Her cheeks flushed, and she dropped her gaze in embarrassment. But Sirius was laughing, and she sounded so at ease and so _pleased_ that Harry couldn't help but smile back. Affection had never felt so simple to her, so easily _good_ and happy and painless.

And so, feeling like sunlight thrummed just under her skin, she rose up on her tiptoes, and kissed Sirius again.

* * *

Sometimes, she had let herself imagine what it might be to touch Sirius, and let herself be bewitched willingly by the hold Sirius had on her. She imagined seeing her bare, meaningfully and provocatively naked, letting Harry touch her skin and breathe in her scent and kiss her everywhere Harry wanted to.

She imagined what it might have been like, running home to Sirius for the summer and being pushed against the wall, her skirt held up with trembling fingers while Sirius dove in between her legs and licked into her. She imagined sitting at the table in Sirius' lap, her legs around Sirius' waist and her head pushed into Sirius' neck, fingers pushing inside her hard and gentle all at once, so that Harry felt simultaneously cherished and pleased.

There were several long, hot nights when Harry couldn't find sleep for the desire that thrummed like electricity under her skin. Try as she might, she could not ease her muscles, could not find a space on her pillow that was cool enough to press her face to, couldn't ignore the sweat trickling down her back and under her breasts and the pages where her thighs pressed into the bed and each other. Those nights, she could not forget the way Sirius looked with her eyes closed, sunlight fluttering across her face and painting her face in oranges and golds and yellows. She became stuck on the flex of Sirius' muscles and bones, her thighs and calves, strong and smooth and long.

Those nights she let herself dream of kissing and fucking Sirius, and let her own hands wander between her legs until she was tired and satisfied, and too exhausted to feel guilty about what she'd done until the morning.

* * *

Lazy sunlight drifted through the slits in the curtains, shining in golden bars across the darkened room like gold, dust and otherwise invisible particles moving across the space like fairy dust. Sirius’ face was illuminated softly, the shadows on her face carefully and lovingly blended into the light until she looked gentler, younger, more at peace than she ever was awake. Harry watched the gold on her eyelashes, the shine in her curled, wild hair, and wondered whether Sirius dreamed of her.

It hurt her, to think of Sirius stuck in this dreary old house. Sirius was meant to be this, was meant to be the woman in the field yesterday, was meant to be speeding through summer-hot streets and standing tired on street-facing balconies in the evening, her hair wet from a shower, her legs and feet bare, her shoulders soft as she lit a cigarette and watched the world pass, unaware.

Harry liked to imagine herself there too, standing behind Sirius and telling her ' _you really shouldn't smoke those you know, you'll die an early death_.'

She knew what Sirius would say too, just as she always had. ' _I'll die when I'm meant to, darling_ ' and ' _what's life without a little risk_ ' and _oh_ , but it _hurt_ when she thought of what she couldn't have, because surely this wasn't real. Surely she had misunderstood something, somewhere, and it would all be taken away from her.

She wanted to reach out and touch Sirius' face, wanted to trail barely-there fingers down the shape of her nose, her lips, her cheeks. She wanted to follow the trail with her own lips, her mouth, wanted for Sirius to wake up and push her down and make her feel warm again, like the sun itself was inside her bones and her heart, like she might burst with the warmth and hurt and _love_.

She wanted last night to have been more, wanted to memorize every curve and straight edge, every hard muscle and blemish and scar that painted Sirius' skin until they may as well have been on her own.

Then Sirius turned, away from her, and Harry felt suddenly bereft. She took a breath, felt it shudder oddly in her chest, and pulled away the covers. Suddenly, lying in this bed felt like lying to herself, and Harry couldn't bear the keen ache any longer.

* * *

She woke up, knowing something was wrong, but so blind from sleep that for far too long a second she blinked blearily at the sunlit ceiling.

And then she remembered last night. And then she remembered Harry.

Harry who wasn't there, who had probably run up into her own room, or downstairs for breakfast, unwilling to see the face of the woman who had done the one thing she shouldn't have.

' _James' daughter_ ,' she told herself, sitting up. ' _Lily's daughter_.' Had she sunk so low?

However, when eventually she made her way down, her heart heavy with guilt and shame, she found Harry neither at the kitchen table, not in her room or in the library. None of her friends had seen her, not anyone else, and when finally Sirius went looking for her, she realised Harry wasn't even in the house.

Her first reaction was to panic, raise hell to find Harry before someone got to her, but it clicked, like it had clicked last night, when Harry had held her hand close to her chest and looked up at her so openly, so vulnerable. If Sirius was panicking, then so was Harry. And for once, it would be Sirius who'd calm Harry down, and not the other way around.

So, trusting her feet and her sense and her instinct, she picked up her keys and left the house for a walk.

* * *

It was just a glimpse, a silhouette in the distance, but Sirius was immediately filled with _recognition_ , a bone-deep certainty that this was Harry. She sped up after her, walking down the gleaming cobblestone path to where Harry walked, uncaring and unaware. For a second, Sirius could only watch as Harry moved from direct sunlight to the deep shadows of the old church, her hair going from shining gold to endless black. She seemed so small like this, so fragile—her shoulders too thin, her tread too light. But there was something in the way Harry walked that spoke of fire, of power, and it left Sirius bewitched. ' _James' daughter_ ,' she thought, ' _and by Merlin do I love her_.'

She moved after Harry, the shade of the old stone building like ice after the heat of the sun, and moved to where Harry wandered around the church building. When she reached her, Harry was standing next to a short stone wall, only waist-high, running her fingers against the roughness and deep in thought. Sirius didn't waste any time.

She wrapped her arms around Harry, and pushed her nose into her hair to smell the sun and the shade and the leaves, the flowers and berries she'd passed on the way, the smoke of cars on the streets. She pressed Harry closer into her until every inch of her front pressed against Harry's back, and kissed her hair with all the tenderness she could muster.

"Fancy seeing you here," she whispered. Her voice was rough, husky, and for a second Sirius wondered if she'd made a mistake, if she'd been too overbearing or forceful or _much_.

But Harry turned, her face tilted up towards Sirius like a flower to the sun, and it was nothing like restriction and everything like freedom, like magic in her veins and arms and chest, like breathing the cold morning air one day when you wake up unusually early, and tasting the difference on your tongue.

Harry tasted like electricity, like something so essential to Sirius that she could not make herself let go anymore, no matter how bad or inappropriate or frowned upon this was.

She pulled back, watched the way Harry's eyelids shuddered faintly under the speckled sunlight, the shadow of leaves painting patterns on her gold skin. She watched the light dance off the wet of Harry's pink, kissed lips, and though she felt guilty at taking Harry from the world, she also felt proud in the same breath.

Harry was hers. She wouldn't let go again.

The stone was warm, holding sunshine like it was alive and warming her to her bones. She pressed Harry back against it, bent her back until she grasped, endearingly, onto Sirius. As if she might trip. As if Sirius would ever let her fall.

"I was unsure," Harry whispered, and paused as if she didn't quite know what to say. Her eyes were so green, so bright with life—they shone with her smile, like she was so glad to see Sirius that it simply arose from somewhere deep inside.

"Don't be," Sirius murmured back, resting her hand in the small of Harry's back. She pressed them together, her chest against Harry's and her hips against her, until she could feel every breath Harry took as if they were one. "I'll never let you go again."

* * *

Her hands were warm, soft, her fingers long and thin next to Harry's. She pressed them tightly together like they were a prayer, or perhaps a spell, and watched them as Sirius pressed herself even closer.

"Harry," she whispered, her voice so achingly gentle it made Harry want to cry. They stayed like that for a long moment, Sirius' every breath pressed against Harry's until they were breathing as one, until Harry wondered if they were not, in some way, the same person. She let her shoulders drop, and Sirius leaned her head down until their faces were nearly too close, their noses and foreheads touching.

"Let me take care of you, darling," she whispered. Harry shuddered, letting her fingers slide between Sirius', letting her face slant until they were nearly kissing.

"I'll make it so good," Sirius promised, one hand dropping to Harry's waist. Then again, "Let me take care of you."

Harry smiled and let Sirius push her down into soft green grass. She let Sirius strip her, undo her shirt until her breasts were bare under the sun, let her slide off her trousers and her underwear until she lay naked in broad daylight.

It felt terrifying, doing this so openly. She'd been with someone before, but never under the sunlit sky, no walls surrounding them, no shadow hiding them from the random, nonexistent passerby. Harry had never felt so naked as she did then, Sirius' warm eyes picking up on every single bump and scar and patch of discoloured skin, seeing every hair and freckle, and loving them all because they were _her_ , because she loved _Harry_.

She let Sirius run reverent fingers down her sides, her touch light and almost ticklish except it was Sirius, and therefore somehow magical in a way no other touch was. She watched Sirius' skin warm and flush, her limbs loosen in the light, her eyes grow half-lidded in arousal, and let herself touch the woman in turn.

And Sirius was so different from her, paler and taller, her hair falling in turbulent waves around their faces like a curtain. She put her hand on Sirius' breast, tweaked the nipple until Sirius gasped, and then let her hand slip down between Sirius’ legs.

Harry had been with a woman before, clumsy fingers moving quickly in darkened corners. She'd kissed Cho and Ginny and even Hermione, one memorable time that they both agreed to never speak of again. She'd let Ginny push her hand up her skirt, let herself explore another's body, and yet even with the rush of first times it had been nothing like this.

Touching Sirius felt like touching the sun, like it should be impossible or _illegal_. Touching Sirius warmed her all the way through, flushing her skin pink until she could feel it between her legs. She pressed her fingers into Sirius, watched the way her eyes fluttered closed and the way colour rose on her cheeks with reverence, and then pressed deeper.

Sirius was so wet, so soft, her legs parting like an invitation to Harry, her every moan and gasp a gift. She moved her other hand to trace circles into Sirius' waist, feel the shape of the back she'd so admired, and finally to push Sirius down to kiss her harder.

And then Sirius was reaching for her forearm, raising her hand and kissing her wrist softly, affectionately. Harry tried to protest, tried to tell her ' _I wasn't done_ ' or 'you _weren't done_ ' but Sirius looked at her, her lips still pressed to the rapid pulse at Harry's wrist, and she couldn't say anything at all.

Instead, Sirius said "let me," and threaded her fingers between Harry's before she let her mouth drop to the hollow of Harry's neck. She kissed her there, moved down her skin with soft touches that may as well have been a brand for how intense they were. Harry knew she'd never forget this moment, this afternoon, making love to Sirius under the orange sun and blue sky.

Sirius kissed little circles around her chest, biting at the outer side of her breasts before she let herself mouth at Harry's nipples, and the sensation of her mouth was so warm and _new_ it made her tremble. Harry felt her skin warm under the sun, but everywhere Sirius touched her was hot, like Sirius was a furnace, or perhaps a star indeed. She moaned when Sirius twisted at her other nipple, pushing her chest up invitingly, and then Sirius was moving down again.

When Harry looked at her, she found Sirius looking back, her mouth stretched in a grin. She settled between Harry's legs easily, her hands pushing Harry's thighs up and apart and stroking along the skin there meaningfully. Her eyes gleamed mischievously, a promise in her eyes that made Harry gasp with want, before she bent down and put her mouth to Harry's sex. She kissed at the top, gently, and Harry felt so hot there that she almost felt like she could come from the sight of Sirius between her legs alone, just like that. 

But Sirius was slow, methodical, making the moment last. She licked at Harry's clit, pushed her tongue at her cunt, made her feel things she had never felt before. Harry felt her back arching, pressed her head back and her hands into Sirius' hair to get more or to get away, and even she wasn't sure which it was.

And still, Sirius didn't relent. She took Harry apart piece by piece, experienced hands touching her in ways she hadn't known she _could_ be touched. Quick snogs and fumblings in darkened broom cupboards had felt nothing like this, like letting Sirius ruin her under the open skies, and indeed Sirius _had_ ruined her for anyone else.

How could she ever look elsewhere now that she knew what Sirius tasted like?

And she felt like she should be jealous, like she should burn at the thought of anyone else being with her Sirius, but that wasn't quite right. All Harry could feel was an intense sense of gratitude, exaltation at the permission to touch Sirius, pride at being the one to make her smile and laugh so.

Sirius bit at the soft, delicate skin at the top of her thighs, leaving marks where nobody but the two of them would know. She sucked on Harry's clit until her eyes rolled back in her head, until she was clutching at Sirius' hair and coming harder than she ever had before with Sirius’ name in her tongue and adoration in her chest.

Sirius moved back up over her, her every move sinuous and lazy and _beautiful_ , and she looked so satisfied with herself that Harry couldn't help but kiss her, push her down and press herself closer, until they lay entwined and naked under the sun. Sirius looked at her so softly, so tenderly, that she felt her heart could very well burst out of her chest. Harry had never felt so safe and loved as she did then.

So she kissed Sirius' collarbone, and let Sirius' heartbeat lull her into a daze where only the sun and Sirius' warmth mattered.


End file.
